Burn The Witch
by addledwalrus
Summary: Norway is accused of being a witch by a mob of angry villagers. Set during the fourteenth century.


ain fell heavily upon the small Swedish town, as a flash of lightning briefly lit up the night sky and the sound of thunder seconds later frightened young children and animals.

The local inn was filled with guests, mostly weary travellers and people desperate for hospitality or accommodation. The smell of burning wood and damp clothing was heavy in the air as a dumpy old woman made her way to a table in the corner, where two fair-haired young men sat.

"Drink up." She muttered in exhaustion, carelessly setting the beverages down on the table. She then turned to the first man, the one with jaggedly cut hair, an icy stare and a prominent jaw. She frowned in suspicion and placed her hands on her hips.

"Of noble birth, are we? I can see it in your face, not a speck of dirt anywhere..."

He did not say anything in reply and simply began to drink, as if he had never heard what the woman had said. It was only when he stared in her direction, that she realized and backed away apologetically, exchanging one last glance at his wild-haired companion before hurrying to serve another guest.

"Damn, Berwald...of all the people who could have served us, we get that hag. I mean, look at that pretty maiden there..." He complained, waving towards the buxom young woman in front of them. She was bent over slightly and talking to an elderly man, at the same time giving everyone a generous view of her ample behind. Whether she was aware of this though, was anyone's guess.

She soon stood up straight and strutted across the room, seemingly oblivious to the ways some were ogling her figure. One middle-aged man clearly looked a little too long, as he was soon slapped in the face viciously by his jealous wife.

This briefly distracted the young woman and Denmark used this as an opportunity to get her attention. He whistled loudly and she turned to look at him, then he beckoned her over so they could talk.

Sweden watched in frustration as the two seemingly flirted, for it seemed that every time his companion saw an attractive girl, he had to attempt to start some kind of relationship with her, impossible as it was. The idea of them dragging a poor old woman around in thirty or forty years was both amusing and horrifying, perhaps more so that it was one of his own citizens that his companion was dealing with.

Thankfully as the young woman began to talk about her innkeeper parents, a familiar cloaked figure staggered in through the entrance. Denmark recognized them right away and stood up from his seat in excitement, brushing the girl away with little effort. She stumbled away, her head lowered in disappointment at having been rejected so abruptly.

"Norge! Over here!" He yelled, waving his arm widely in the air and receiving a murderous look from the newcomer.

They wasted no time in storming over to Denmark and smacking him furiously in the side of the head.

"I thought I told you to call me Lukas, stupid! Now they're all looking at me strangely!"

Indeed, quite a few were now scratching their heads in confusion over how anyone could be named after a country. Fortunately, Sweden worked up the courage to glare at them threateningly, so that they all looked away in aversion.

After getting a satisfying apology from Denmark, Norway lowered the hood of his cloak and slumped down in the empty spot opposite Sweden. He eyed the larger man dully and as he did so, Denmark observed that his breathing sounded heavier than usual.

"I really hate you right now, Berwald..." Norway rasped, a great strain evident in his voice that made Denmark worry.

"Why? Haven't done nothin' to you..."

"Not you in person, it's just the group of peasants I met..." He tried to explain, only to burst into a coughing fit. He took a deep breath once it was over so he could continue, only to feel Denmark's hand rest on his back.

"Don't push yourself, Norge...sorry, Lukas...how about you have a drink first to relax?"

Despite him shaking his head in protest, Denmark grabbed his cup that he had drunken from moments before, and poured the contents into Norway's mouth.

Norway choked and slung Denmark's arm away. He coughed again and wiped away the trickle of beer running from his lips.

"I'm not thirsty...I just need to get the soot out of my throat..."

* * *

It had been a couple of decades since the start of the Kalmar Union, in which he was expected to unite with Denmark and Sweden. He would rather have stayed alone for the time being, considering the sour mood he'd been in for the past few years, but in the end he found that he didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

It didn't help that Queen Margaret the current ruler, seemed to focus most of her efforts towards her home country Denmark and the kingdom of Sweden, leaving him out of the picture a few times.

Norway found himself becoming increasingly like the commoners he once took for granted, as a result of his shrinking importance in the grand scheme of things. It eventually arrived at the point where he spent much of his spare time travelling around the countryside, doing odd jobs for anyone who asked kindly enough. Over time, he began to find a certain comfort in doing these activities and would admire the scenery around him when he could.

It so happened one spring that he crossed over into Sweden in his search for more work to occupy himself with, soon coming across a village near the border.

A young adolescent girl had been among the first to see him and she ran to tell her parents of the stranger. They were rather apprehensive of meeting him at first, however it all vanished once they noticed his seemingly innocent face and youth.

The family was rather hospitable and let him stay with them for the night and over dinner, bombarded him with questions about his origins and purpose.

"Your accent is odd. You're not from around here, are you? Where are you from?" The father asked after loudly gulping down some mead.

"Norway..."

"Björn, we don't even know this boy's name!" The mother hissed, smacking her husband on the shoulder. His face became flushed in embarrassment and he excused himself, rubbing his large nose.

"I'm sorry, but could you tell us your name...?" He said sheepishly once he had overcome his humiliation. "...Can never control the wife..."

"Erik..." Norway replied tersely, hoping that they would let him mind his own business.

"I'm Ingeri!" The daughter piped up excitedly as she leaned towards him. He had an urge to push her away and distance himself into the nearest corner, but refrained from doing that for fear of coming across as rude.

And so he had to sit there as the overly affectionate girl inched closer, trying his best to cover up the discomfort he was feeling inside.

He had always known Sweden to be a rather reserved nation, so what was making this young girl so affectionate? Perhaps she was just an exception, nothing more.

He sincerely hoped that were the case, as she insisted on sharing scraps of her own food with him. He eyed the cracked bread in her hand and swallowed the cold lump in his throat, unsure of how to respond.

"Ingeri, don't force him. Maybe he isn't used to strangers." Her mother spoke up just in time.

Ingeri smiled shyly and withdrew the hand that held the piece of bread, directing one last look at him before chewing on what was left.

* * *

The following morning began smoothly enough. Norway had woken up to eat again with the family and remembered to thank them once the meal ended.

He offered to help in the field, where he overheard a conversation between two women about the once rampant plague and the various omens that had occurred in the region.

"I tell you, never let him out of your sight. They say _she_ looked away for just a while and when she looked back, he was nothing but a sack of bones!"

"Well, I would never be so careless. Did you hear of the child born with two heads? God knows what I'd do if it were mine..."

"That _would _be terrifying..." The first woman said, nodding in understanding.

Norway didn't know what to make of their words and tried to direct his attention elsewhere so that it wouldn't seem like he was eavesdropping. He gazed at the trees in the distance while pretending to be absorbed in his work, only for something suspicious to catch his eye.

He dismissed it as an illusion at first and blinked a couple of times to make sure, but the dark figure looked clear as ever, if not closer to him than before.

The elderly woman in the black cloak glided along, a hint of triumph on her face as she chanted words that he could not make out.

He had seen her countless times before, especially during the time that the Black Death was widespread. She would often pass those about to die, broom or rake in hand and take their souls so she could string them along with her to the afterlife.

Always, despite his wish to stop her just once, he could only watch powerless as she did her work and the dead piled up until he couldn't bury them all. He remembered how he had fallen terribly ill, coming down with a burning fever and vomiting blood out uncontrollably.

An anguished scream cut into his thoughts and he snapped back to the present. He saw that the people around him had all stopped working and were simply staring ahead in shock.

A young woman ran forward wailing hysterically while carrying the limp body of a child in her arms. A gaping chest wound could be seen on the child, the blood still flowing from it profusely and soaking through the clothes of both him and his mother.

It took another scream to spur those closest to her into action and they rushed to help stop the bleeding, but to little result as the child swiftly passed away and ceased breathing, much to her profound grief.

* * *

The village was deathly silent for the rest of the day and Norway noticed the wary looks directed at him. He guessed that he couldn't blame them however, since as an outsider he would naturally be under suspicion first.

He considered leaving at that moment but eventually decided against it, telling himself that all would soon pass and he would be at peace again. He was proven very wrong of course, after a few hours of minimal activity among the villagers.

The local priest approached him while he was in the square and ordered two men to arrest him so he could be put on trial. He tried to resist at first, before realizing it was probably useless in his current situation and that it only made him seem more guilty in their eyes.

The trial itself was alarmingly quick, with the only people arguing in his favour being the family that had let him in the night before. No one really believed them though and he was found guilty of killing a child through magic.

It was only when he was tied to the stake and wood piled around his feet, that the irony of it all hit him. All his life he had managed to use magic without ever being discovered, yet the moment he went undercover he was mercilessly accused of it without any grounding.

"You may have charmed some with that face, but not all of us are fools..."

A large man held a burning torch and clumsily lit the fire in several places, before stepping backwards to admire what he had done. In the meantime, Norway tried to reassure himself that no harm would actually befall him. After all, he was the immortal personification of his land and it would take a lot more than just a little fire to hurt him.

The tongues of the flames began to lick up around the soles of his shoes and he looked up, focusing on what was straight ahead instead of the growing heat around his feet. He saw Ingeri standing towards the back of the crowd with her parents, an almost sad expression on her face as she stared wide-eyed.

The fire never reached his legs however and simply died down without warning, proving his earlier reassurance correct. He sighed deeply in relief and began to wriggle against the ropes, eager to get free.

"Light it again!" The priest yelled at the man from before and he scrambled again for the torch, tripping over in the process.

Norway succeeded in tearing through the first of his bonds and was about to dig his nails into the next, when another fire was lit near his feet. He cursed at his bad luck and gritted his teeth, continuing to free himself anyway.

The rest was somewhat easier as he created more space for his hands to move. Once the last circle of rope had fallen loose around his wrist, he threw himself forward and landed on the grassy ground, using his hands to cushion his fall.

To the stunned cries of the spectators, Norway swiftly stood upright and began running straight ahead, pushing aside anyone who was in his way. The smell of smoke and burning wood was heavy in the air. He glanced behind him and briefly imagined he was still bound to the stake, the flames consuming his body and reducing it to ash and bone.

"Seize him now!" The old man screamed, his harsh voice snapping Norway out of the vivid imaginations.

Some tried to grab for his clothes, but Norway was able to speed past them with little difficulty. He continued to sprint towards the thick forest in the distance, knowing it would be a good hiding place and that it would buy him time to escape.

* * *

"That sounds rough." Denmark nodded in sympathy after Norway had told his story. "But how did you know we would be here?"

"I have my ways..." Norway muttered ambiguously as he glanced emptily over his own shoulder, or at least that was how it seemed to his close friend.

There was a pause in which Denmark stared at him in what could almost have been affection or awe, before he changed the subject.

"I just noticed, your voice sounds a lot rougher than I remember. Like an old sailor."

"Oh?" Norway said in surprise. The mental image of an elderly man swearing on a leaky ship popped up in his head and he found himself smiling in amusement. He quickly frowned however, when he realized he was allowing his soft side to show.

"Well, you sound like a snob."

"I guess I do..." Denmark said casually, unaffected by the remark. "Anyway, tell me about that girl you met. What was she like? Was she pretty?"

"Don't bother. She's barely a child..."


End file.
